


Halcyon Recoiling

by Rosieloki



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Sakaar (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2021-04-14
Packaged: 2021-04-22 08:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosieloki/pseuds/Rosieloki
Summary: Lmao I'll stop posting beginnings of things and actually write something with more than one chapterBut I sometimes feel I shouldn't write too much unless it doesn't have an audience ya know?I originally wrote this after finding out there was a notion of filming the after credits scene of Yon landing on Sakaar,Tell me what you think
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

A vast sea of green faces, twisted in panic passes her by. Beside her, Yon-rogg, watches her with a tired expression. Doing something so chivalrous should have sparked some kind of pride in her old commander but when she looks to him, all the finds is anything but. “Come with me.” She urges. Itches to tug on his arm.

He laughs humorlessly at that, “Impossible, I'm afraid. Ww would never make it out alive.” He says with thinly veiled sadness.

Carol shakes her head, refusing.

“You stand a much better chance if I stay behind. Make sure you all escape safe and sound.” His voice is as calming as a gentle breeze and he sounds a little more like himself again. “Anyway, the tail one would amass from turning their backs on the Kree isn't one to be taken lightly.” he says with a sad smile.

She wishes the whole six years hadn't happened. She wishes that he hadn't lied. Had they met under different circumstances. Had she been someone else. Again. It makes her heart aches.

“Is this goodbye?” She refuses to feel sad. Channels it into rage.

“Only if you let it be.” Yon says and she wishes he wasn't so kind.

There's a sudden commotion to her right. The doors they'd sealed won't remain sealed for long. An abundance of big and heavy Kree were somewhere beyond.

Yon turns his head but keeps his eyes fixed on her. “You should photon blast me, and make it look good. It would dispel any kind of assumption we are still on speaking terms.”

“Are we?” She smirks to disguise the heaviness in her chest.

“Carol.” _Carol. _ Not Vers. He looks at her in a way that sobers her. An impatientness in his eyes, it prompts her to funnel her energy into her fists. He didn't want her to leave as much as much as she did.

She lets the energy from her wrist, and it hits him square in the chest with a zing, knocking him onto his back to slide across the floor. She watches his chest as it heaves up and down; the only sign of life if there were one.

Carol leaves his side and runs to the back end of the ship, climbing inside it just in time before the ramp closes. The last thing she sees is the security door being forced open in a spray of orange sparks and light. No doubt they'd come across Yon-Rogg and yet another time he'd tell them of how she'd slipped through his grasp.

**One month later**

Yon-Rogg washes off dried-on paint and dirt and grime from his face, and frees himself from his uniform, it had since turned a burnt orange and the once silver star is now blackened and dulled with overuse. He strips it down to his waist, runs a hand through his forming beard and shaggy hair. It's been a few weeks since he'd had it properly cut and he had grown a mane. No big deal, really. He wasn't paid to sit around and look pretty. He'd shower later and keep himself kept when he had a minute.

Yon dries his face, not bothering to dress himself. Thumbing the button to the elevator he takes it to the top floor, the penthouse floor. The garish yellow and green doors roll over, stepping forwards, he coughs to announce his arrival.

"Ah! My newest attraction, so good to see you. Mmm!" The Grandmaster slithers his way over and plants him with unwanted kisses on each of his cheeks. "A little ripe for my liking, haha!" He chuckles and moves away to pour himself a drink. No doubt he’s stinking of sweat and dried on alien blood and guts.

"As lovely as all this is. There's the small matter of my payment." He bites and inclines his head.

"Yes, yes." The Grandmaster waves his hand like money was no object or was simply invisible. "You see… you're starting to draw a lot of attention. Spectators here have never seen a Kree in action before and lived to tell the tale. Let alone one so handsome." The Grandmaster grins and he lets it slide. Not biting the hand that pays is something Yon-Rogg learnt very early as a child.

"That's all very nice to hear but care to get to the point." Yon almost hisses, growing more and more impatient with every second.

"They want more of you, my fabulous friend! You're something of a celebrity." The Grandmaster beams and claps his hands together underneath his chin. Yon pretends to give this some thought. More fights would mean more credits. More credits would mean a bigger ship to get off the shit hole of a planet and back to some sort of civilization.

"En dwi, it'll be my pleasure to serve you more." Yon smiles in the way a snake does before it strikes. He seals the deal as he shakes the exuberant contest founder's hand.

"Just say the word my friend!" En Dwi guides Yon to his new quarters painted in bright red and clinical white with a giant window to look over the whole of Sakaar. His new conquest, his new home.

For now.

  
…….

Yon pours himself a glass of Asgardian brandy, deep brown in colour and rich in flavour. A towel around his waist, his skin still clammy, hair just long enough it starts to show its natural curl. His skin had since browned some in the hot Sakaaran heat, he wondered briefly if his old companions would even recognise him. It had been some many, many solar days since he’d seen them last. In the days where he gave a shit about Starforce and when that name still held something.

Now all he has was a battered old uniform, a head full of memories and a pit of rage in his chest, each day growing more and more vicious inside of him.

Yon-Rogg knocks back the brandy and hisses at the taste.

Ever since the Supremor had found out about his little tirade with Vers and her little green friends, he’d been sent to the distant Sakaar, arsehole of the universe, for a little payback for failing pitifully. Again.

At this point he was happy to make it out with his head, fearing he wouldn’t survive another failure. Telling himself he wouldn’t. The next time he ran into Vers, it would be his last. He’d make sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Carol stumbles through the sliding door, she shuts it halfway with a lazy push. Making her way to the bedroom and stumbles through that door too, pulling Saal behind her. Kissing him wistfully, somehow ending up in front of the bed, she shoves him onto the bed and he lands on his back on the plush duvet and fluffy pillows with a contented sigh as she climbs upon him. 

"Mmmm," He hums, happily, learning up to kiss her only for her to evade it. 

Instead, Carol snuggles up to him, biting his lip, his cheeks, his chin, any flesh she can get her mouth on. She anchors herself to him, hips locked against him. His large hands heading for the knee high combat boots, red as the largest dwarf star. "mmm….. you undressing me now, huh?" She says with a snort and spreads herself a little wider so he could pull the boots from her feet.   
He manages to do it successfully and starts to paw at her calves and her thighs.

The rest of her body was still contained in the skintight suit. 

She rubs herself against him, making him bite back a groan, even though the thick material, she could feel him. 

She stands, and starts to unzip the suit from neck to coccyx, “Take your clothes off,” she says when she has the suit to her mitd-high when she looks up and sees Saal looking at her up and down, taking in her naked body with adoration and lust, he gapes, pulling off his shirt. She steps out of the rest of the suit with a smirk.

“You’re absolutely bloody gorgeous.” He says, starting to unbuckle his pants, practically on the verge of drooling. 

She’d been too lazy to put on a bra that morning. “I know,” she shrugs, “take your pants off, we haven’t got all night.”

……………………………

Carol gets out of bed, body humming with post-coital bliss. He’d been good. For a Xandarian, at least. Made her body sing in all the right ways, in all the right places. Dawn starts meandering through the windows as she starts to dress, stretching as she pulls the suit back on, she finds her boots strewn across Saal’s room. One near the bedroom door, the other by the bedside table. 

The bedsheets rustle as Saal starts to wake and she curses under her breath. 

“Carol, are you leaving already?” He looks a little sad, face pinched and blue eyes round and sad, and she almost pities him for a moment. Almost. 

“Sorry, Saal, we can cuddle and spoon another time. Places to be. People to save.” She smirks. 

Saal was good in bed, an excellent fighter, but boy, did he have issues, she didn’t enjoy abandoning him like this, but there were only so many ways to tell a guy you are not interested in anything long-time.   
…….

Carol flies to Knowhere, arse end of the galaxy, a giant car boot sale for anything and everything you can’t get through honest means. One of the last planets. Or planetoids in this case to check off her list for a wanted Kree.

She checks the spaceport, the local flop house before taking a break, going to starlin’s bar and ordering the strongest, nastiest thing on the menu. Starlin’s face pales considerably at the gold gilding on her uniform, gulping, more than likely recognising her and realising what her presence represents. He offers her drinks on the house. She downs three before eyeing the Ravagers occupying a table in the shadows, chugging from a pitcher something bright blue and frothy. The stench gives them away before she sees the flame emblems stitches on their clothing. “Hey, boys, I’m hoping you could help me look for something?” 

A pink skinned Terran looking Ravager steps toward, in his early forties if she was to hazard a guess, “Holy hell never in all my years would I think to meet you,” he sways from side to side a little, clearly inebriated. He puffs himself up in front of his Ravager comrades. 

“Yeah, whatever.” She waves her hand to dispel the waft of his alcohol infused breath. “I need safe passage to Sakaar, I was hoping you could help me.”

He starts to laugh and Carol grits her teeth, “and why in the hell should we help you?”

“Let’s see...” Carol smacks her lips to emphasize. “One of the most deadliest women in the galaxy wants a ride and you’ll turn her down...because, why, exactly?” Carol makes an exaggerated shocked expression and looks the drunk Ravager straight in the eye, the table behind him gradually falling quiet. 

He puts his hand out and introduces himself as Kraglin, “Nice to meet you ma’am, but there’s no safe passage to Sakaar. Most ships burn up instantly on reentry. We can get you to one of the nearest wormholes, though.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I'm gonna get so much stick for writing this lmao *hides*

The Grandmaster escorts Yon Rogg to the bar, grinning and talking about his victory at length. He offers him drinks and women all night who sit on his knee and rub his chest and tell him how strong he is as he’s fed delicacies from the whole of Sakaar and performed to by dancers and musicians all night long, he should be enjoying it, he’d earned it after all. 

He’s ready to call it a night when he sees a dancer, wearing hardly anything, body strong, skin tanned by the Sakaar sun, her hair pulled back from her face in a long, and blonde arrangement. The room grows dark around her form. The air suddenly humid.

He invites her over to paw at him and rub him in ways that makes the night actually bearable. Yon reaches for her hair ties. It flows over her back and face, obscuring her facial features. In the heady mix of intoxicants and heat from her skin, it could almost be her. 

Almost. 

Maybe. 

He’s painfully hard in her hands, as he barely registers his belt being undone and the warmth of her mouth.

********

The rain pelts down in the humid environment, fat and heavy, soaking anything left to the elements. Forming a pale haze around a neon white sign to his apartment. An angelic aura. A sign for his damned soul.

Maybe he should get into a fight? Prove his worth against the populace. Take out that frustration on the first thing that angers him. Walk home, knuckles bloody and blue against pink skin. It had been years since he'd found any real action. The arena didn’t count, not really. Anything to prove his self worth. Give him that glow of approval. The seek of validation from anything he deemed noble. Satisfactory. 

What would the Supreme Intelligence say to that? Ronan? Or was his mere continuing existence a blight on their civilization. Pink and weak as he was. Failing a mission given to him by the highest level. 

He steps into the rain and frowns as it runs off him, not making a dent in his armour. He'd kept the uniform, of course he did. What more could he lose? Lest it turn to rags in his hands. The first thing he did was burn the star off the front. Turning it blackened and hollow, altering the design to a deep red. Almost brown in certain lights. 

Old war hero. A commander of Starforce. Being only second tier to the Accusers. Xandar had no equivalent. No race in the universe could compete. Teaching children self defence and the history of Hala. The long and complicated, convoluted history he'd been spoon fed himself. Being yhe youngest of the Rogg family. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. Eager to please and make a name for himself among the stars. Training the new recruits and cherry picking each and every one of them himself. Including her. 

Vers. 

Carol. 

She was the start of it all. His downfall. His shameless descent. She'd single handedly unpicked the seam of her past and retaliation ultimately leading to his banishment. Missing the luxury of Hala, the clean, sterile, the level of technology. Not like Sakaar didn't have its pros. Even if he could count them on one hand. He reaches for the bottle he kept at his bedside, the table littered with pieces of old and dying machinery and weaponry.

A hobby for him to fuss over when the barkeep wouldn't allow him to drink anymore or when he couldn't sleep at night.

The irony isn't lost on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sweet juxtaposition


End file.
